


Heroes and Villains:  Of Sidekicks and Snippets

by irishlullaby13



Series: Heroes and Villains [26]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Captain and the Siren, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2018-10-14 02:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: Little snippets of various side characters in the Captain and Siren AU'verse





	1. Melody Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be updated at random with various snippets involving the various side characters in the Heroes and Villains universe as they interact with the Captain and the Siren.

“Granddad.”

Melody smiled brightly when he lifted his nose out of the book it had been buried in and looked in her direction. “Yes, Melody?”

“Can we get some gymnastics equipment put in the back yard?” she asked, then poked out her bottom lip giving him big pleading eyes. At his confused look, she added, “A vaulting bar, some uneven bars. Actually an obstacle course would probably be better...”

“I would have to check with the Historical Restorations committee but... why do you wish to have such equipment?”

“I have to start training,” she said with a tone that indicated that it should have been obvious. “And Mama said taking up gymnastics is too expensive. That and the girls at the _good_ gymnastics school are stuck up elitists that said I am too fat.”

Granddad scoffed. “That is unnecessarily rude of them. But that still does not provide an adequate explanation for... why?”

Melody sighed heavily and groaned. “So many questions...”

“It's my _yard_ I have a right to know why such equipment is necessary.”

“I want to ask the Siren if I can be her sidekick so I need to get in shape and... learn to climb walls and tumble away from danger and stuff.”

Granddad blinked at her then shook his head lightly. “Her... sidekick?”

“Yeah I know it'll be weird and all at first since you know... you two are _supposedly_ enemies again but... I really want to be her sidekick,” Melody said pleadingly. “Or are you two doing the thing where you're sneaking around again and just telling everyone you're enemies?”

“We're not sneaking nor have we ever been sneaking about. I have not even seen her since my return from DC,” Ichabod pointed out. “Despite the fact it is imperative I do so.”

Melody tilted her head and studied her granddad. Because of her mom, she had learned how to read people pretty well. Granddad was nervous about something. Was it a new Apocalyptic threat? Is that why he needed to talk to the Siren? Or were the goons in DC up to something no good that would directly effect her? 

After a moment, Melody got an idea and grinned cheekily. “I know exactly how to get her here if that's the case,” she preened, pulling out her cell phone. “But first we have to make it look like you're up to something devious.” Granddad rolled his eyes. “Either that or you can throw a masquerade ball. But I can already tell you, it would take a lot less effort to just stage a few devious pictures and throw them on the Official page.”

Granddad had apparently zoned out because he had a far away look in his eyes and was smiling affectionately. “She loves to dance...” he said quietly.

Melody snapped a picture of him, did a few filter edits, then posted it to instagram, twitter, and facebook on the official pages her and the other girl scouts had set up with the commentary of 'Guess who's back in Sleepy Hollow, planning deviousness.' Within the half a minute it took for Granddad to shake himself out of whatever thoughts he was having concerning dancing and the Siren, she had already received twenty responses. Of course most of them consisted of just multiple exclamation points.

Granddad scowled. “What have you done?” he asked.

Melody shook her head. “Nothing. Just put an official announcement up that you are back in town.”

“I fail to see how anyone would care,” Granddad said with a soft chuckle.

“Well, myself and the Sleepy Hollow chapter of the Girls Scouts of the Heart of the Hudson Council, care,” Melody huffed. “Besides we fully intend to try and find out who the Siren is and the Siren goes wherever you're making trouble. That and I am pretty sure she follows the official pages so _she_ would know.”

“The Historical Society has been seeking a venue for their yearly ball,” Granddad muttered. “But four months would be too long to wait... Perhaps I need to scour Helcomb Street again. Knock upon doors if I must...”

“Yeah, no one in their right minds answers the door to a strange person after dark,” Melody commented. “Especially at the time you feel comfortable going outside.” She paused her social media use and looked up. “You said Helcomb Street? East or West?”

“According to the records I've seen it's west,” Granddad replied. “But I have checked both with no luck.”

Melody selected a few names on her messenger list. _Who is available to do some C/S recon and has boxes of cookies left to sell? I have a lead._ “Oh no,” she said with faux horror. “I forgot me and some of the girls were going to try and sell off the last of our cookies at the grocery store today.” She hopped to her feet and gave her granddad a kiss on the cheek. “See you later, Granddad.”

“I shall make inquiries about the equipment you seek,” Granddad said as she scooted toward the door.

Melody beamed happily. “Thanks Granddad!” She waved and hurried out of the door. Within half an hour her and four other girls had gathered as many boxes of cookies they could and headed for West Helcomb Street.

  
#  


Melody pursed her lips. “I hate to say it, but this neighbourhood is a bit white bread,” she commented as her and the girls meandered down the pavement. On one hand, that would make it a heck of a lot easier to find the Siren if she lived on the street. On the other hand, odds were she didn't live on the street unless she had a good paying job that enabled her to live on a street lined with white picket fences.

She watched a grey suv slowly go by and pull into a driveway a few houses ahead on the other side of the street. Melody's eyes widened as the door to the SUV opened and a smartly dressed black woman eased out. She had seen the Siren enough times from a distance to recognize her from behind. “You guys...” she breathed. “Stay cool. Stay calm. We got this...”

“I can't do this,” one of the girls said, shaking her head. “That's her. _That is her_.” Two of other girls helped her sit on the ground to try and sooth her panic attack.

Melody looked at the one left standing. “All right, Zabrina. Just you and me.” Her fellow girl scout nodded shakily. They clasped hands and made their way across the street with what remained of the cookies. The woman paused on her walkway and grinned as she watched them approach.

“ _I can't_...” Zabrina squeaked then quickly ran back over to the other girls. 

Melody froze and looked back toward her friends. She flailed her free arm and they shook their heads. With a heavy sigh, Melody turned back toward the woman, closed her eyes and silently prayed to every god she could think of to not let her embarrass herself, then moved to the Siren's gate. “Hi, Melody with Heart of the Hudson Girl Scout Troop #476,” Melody greeted cheerily. “And I was wondering if you would be interested in some of our delicious cookies.”

The Siren bit her bottom lip and gave a small, torn, groan. “I do love girl scout cookies...” Her gaze shifted to the girls across the street. “Is your friend all right?”

Melody nodded. “She'll be fine. She sometimes gets anxious.”

“All my cash is inside,” the woman said.

“I can go in with you,” Melody beamed. “You don't look like the kind to kidnap me and murder me.” Her eyes flickered to the badge on the Siren's hip. “You're FBI?” The Siren nodded. “That is so cool.”

The Siren helped her lift the little wagon they had been towing the cookies in onto the porch. “Do you have any of the Savannah Smiles? Cause if you do I will take whatever you got.”

“I've got... seven boxes of Savannah Smiles,” Melody replied.

The Siren grinned. “I will take them. Along with two boxes of samoas and do-si-dos. Do you have any of those toffee ones?”

“I have... three boxes of Toffee-tastics.”

“I'll take a box of those too.”

Good Lord. Apparently the Siren had a bit of a sweet tooth. That was almost $50 worth of cookies. Melody waited while she unlocked her door then grabbed her mail from the doorside box. _Mills_ , Melody noted the name above the box. When the older woman went inside she left the door open for Melody to follow her in.

“I'll be right back,” the Siren said and bound up the stairs.

Melody looked around in wide-eyed wonder. _She was with the Siren. Inside the Siren's house. Selling cookies to the Siren_. Her eyes fell to the stack of mail she had left on one of the tables in the entry. She listened for a moment before easing over to the mail. The advert on top was addressed to 'August Corbin or Current Resident'. She would have implored further but she heard boot falls and quickly scurried over to the wagon just before the Siren topped the stairs and started down.

“So how much do I owe you, kid?” the Siren asked.

“Uhh... $49,” Melody replied eyeing the fluffy red thing that had appeared on the lapel of the Siren's blazer. She shook her head to clear it and started gathering up the boxes of cookies and setting them next to the mail. “So, you must really like Savannah Smiles.”

“They're my favourite,” the Siren enthused. “But almost every time you girls are at the store you're sold out. I like to keep a box in my desk at work and just grab one every now and then...” 

They both grew silent when a soft cooing sound filled the air. The Siren paused in counting out the cash to pay for her cookies. Melody narrowed her eyes. “What was that?”

“Umm... Probably a pigeon in my chimney again,” the Siren said quickly. She hurriedly finished counting out the money and held it out to Melody.

“It sounded like it came from your... brooch thing,” Melody commented, taking the money.

The Siren laughed nervously. “That's silly. Why would my brooch coo like a pigeon?”

Suddenly the brooch detached from the Siren's lapel and glided over to attach to Melody's sash. Melody yelped and stared down at it in shock. Yellow eyes, one larger than the other, blinked at her from the fuzzy red ball. “What is it?” Melody squeaked. “Get it off me.”

The Siren put a finger to her lips and knelt down. “Don't scare him,” she said quietly, carefully pulling the red fluff ball off the sash. “He might explode if you scare him.” She delicately placed the fluff ball back on her lapel. “Can I tell you a secret?” Melody nodded. “He's a baby phoenix. He doesn't normally show himself off to strangers. So consider yourself lucky.”

There was not adequate words to describe the hearts that appeared in Melody's eyes when the Siren playfully tweaked her nose. The Siren laughed softly and tilted her head. “Something about you seems familiar... I can't place it though,” the Siren said. “What did you say your name was?”

“Melody,” Melody said in hushed awe. “Melody Ouchi-Jackson.”

The Siren's smile faded as she seemed to piece together who she was. Melody's heart started beating frantically as the Siren walked over to her and leaned down enough to look her in the eyes. “Did _he_ send you here?” she asked, her tone stern but still soft. 

Melody shook her head.

“Are you sure? He's walked past my house three times this week. This can't be a coincidence,” the Siren intoned.

“He said he found out you lived on West Helcomb Street. But couldn't figure out which house. So... I thought maybe going door to door selling cookies I could at least find out where you live,” Melody said shyly, looking down at her feet. “But I'm not going to tell him. I promise.” And to show she was serious, Melody offered her a pinkie.

The Siren's expression softened and she linked her pinkie with hers. She nodded. “Okay. I believe you,” she said quietly. “And if we ever meet again, you're going to have to act like you don't know who I am.”

Melody nodded. “Okay. That won't be too hard because I still don't know your whole name. Just that you're either a Mills or a Corbin. Which means you're either related to Jenny or Joe.”

“Smart kid,” the Siren said with a grin.

Melody worried her bottom lip. “But... he did say he needs to see you and that it was imperative. I'm not sure, but I think it involves the people from DC. He seemed pretty stressed out about it.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” the Siren replied. “I'll see about stopping by soon.”

“Can I be your side kick?” Melody asked then felt her face burn when the Siren laughed lightly.

“I don't need a side kick, babe,” the Siren said. 

“Sure you do. Every superhero needs a side kick,” Melody pointed out. “And you can't say you're not a superhero. Granddad told me you're like... an ancient goddess and have superpowers. And you're... beautiful and strong.”

The Siren folded her arms over her chest. “Okay, I'll bite. What would make you a good side kick?”

“I'm smart,” Melody reminded. “Resourceful. _And_ since since my Granddad is my Granddad... I come from an ancient magical bloodline. All I need is a tragic backstory and I'm set. Also...” She pulled out her phone. “Me and my girl scout troop keep the Official Siren and Captain Fan Pages up to date. I can start posting what kind of mischief my Granddad is up to.”

“Maybe in a couple of years,” the Siren said. “You're still a bit young. And I fight some really nasty and mean monsters. Real ones and things are only going to get worse. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Melody felt her heart sink. “Thanks for buying so many cookies. Shante was running short on sales and she's the one that had all the Savannah Smiles.”

“If y'all want to swing around next time you get cookies in,” the Siren said. “I will gladly buy every last box you have.”

With that Melody pulled the wagon out of the house, the Siren helped her get it back down the steps, and with one last wave Melody made her way back over to her friends. “So how was it?” Zabrina asked.

“You know how they say to never meet your heroes because they are never as awesome in person?” Melody replied. The other girls nodded and looked deflated. “Well, whoever said that obviously just had really crappy heroes because _she was so awesome_!”

  
#  


“ _Ichabod Crane, I need to have words with you_ ,” the voice of Latisha Ouchi-Jackson rang through the manor followed by the slamming of the entry door. Melody and the man in question shared a look, snapped the books they had been reading shut then immediately dove for cover. They both knew what it was about. They would both be dumb if they didn't know what it was about.

The door to the study was throw open. “Ichabod Crane!” Latisha shouted. “I know you are in this house. I will find you. And don't think you're getting out of this easily either Melody Isabelle Ouchi-Jackson. I need words with you because I know your little ass is behind this.”

They listened to the retreating steps of the very obviously annoyed woman then slowly retreated from their hiding places. Using hands gestures Ichabod instructed Melody to go first. She crept from behind the chaise lounger and tiptoed toward the door. The girl kept her back to the wall near the door then pulled a compact mirror from her back pocket to check around the edge of the door. She gave Ichabod a thumbs up and pointed upwards to indicate her mother had gone upstairs. 

Ichabod waved for her to go and he scurried from under the desk, making sure to keep himself as low to the ground as possible as he shuffled out behind her. They dashed into the kitchen and were half way to the back door when they heard Latisha's angry footsteps coming down the kitchen stairs. They shared a panicked look and dove behind the kitchen island.

“Ichabod, Melody,” Latisha said with a warning tone. “Trust me, you would much rather deal with me than Carol. She is _livid_.” They held their breaths as they heard Latisha snatch open the pantry. “Ichabod... You can't act like you're not here. You never leave this damn mansion unless someone forces you to.”

They could tell she was slowly edging toward the island. Ichabod signalled Melody to hold still by holding up one finger. Then two fingers. Instead of holding up a third finger he pointed firmly toward the back door. Melody dashed toward the door. Ichabod tried to follow but fell face first into the floor because Latisha had stepped on the tail of his coat, having seen it when she rounded the corner of the island.

“ _Run, save yourself_ ,” Ichabod cried out, trying to wriggle himself free of his coat.

“I will tear your ass up if you do,” Latisha said sternly. “Both of you. Living room. Now.”

Melody's head drooped in shame and she sulked toward the kitchen door. Ichabod sighed with defeat and when Latisha lifted her foot off his coat, he stood and straightened it before looking Latisha square in the eyes. He sucked in a deep breath and held up a finger as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Choose your words carefully old man,” Latisha dead-panned, folding her arms over her chest.

“I shall be in the living room with Miss Melody,” he said, lowering his hand to let his fingers flick at his side.

“That's what I thought.”

Ichabod trudged to the living room and took a seat next to his many times great granddaughter. “We are such big trouble,” Melody muttered as her mother walked into the living room.

Latisha took a slow, calming breath then sighed heavily. When she spoke, her voice was low and careful, indicating she was doing her best to not sound angry. “Melody. I love you,” she started. “And I know you love your granddad. Ichabod. I love you too. And I know you adore Melody.”

“In my defence...” Ichabod started but a sharp glare from Latisha made him sink back into his seat.

“Ichabod. I know you missed out on being a father to your son. And I know that eats you up inside,” Latisha continued. “That being said... when Carol and I explicitly tell Melody she is not allowed to do something. I don't care what the reason is, that we can't afford it, that we don't have time, whatever. That is not an indicator for you to go behind our backs and do whatever it is she's wanting to be done.” She took another calming breath. “It undermines our authority if she thinks when we say no, that she can come to you and you will do it. Is that understood?”

Ichabod nodded mutely.

“Now, I can over look your teaching her sword fighting,” Latisha said. “That doesn't cost anything and both of you have fun doing it. But paying for a year's worth of kick boxing or any kind of classes... is a no go.”

“But a young lady must know how to properly defend herself in this day and age,” Ichabod defended.

“That is not for you to decide, Ichabod,” Latisha groused. She cleared her throat and went back to the softer tone when she turned her attention to Melody. “Melody. What did I say when you asked for kick boxing classes?”

“To go ask my mother,” Melody grumbled.

“And what did your mother say?” Latisha asked.

Melody sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “ _To ask my mom_.” Ichabod snorted lightly to try and suppress a laugh. Melody glared at him. “It's not funny, granddad. They do this to me all the time! And when I get back to Mom, and I tell her mommy told me to come ask her... _she told me to go ask my mother again_. So finally I just said, Fine. I'll go ask granddad.”

“And I told you if you did that, you would be grounded until you're thirty. So, Melody, you're grounded. I can't really do anything because the lessons are paid up for a year so you will go to them, you will not miss a single one,” Latisha said. “Ichabod. No more going behind mine and Carol's backs to do things we've already told Melody 'no' to.”

“Understood.”

Melody nodded firmly.

“Now I am going home and I am getting some sleep,” Latisha said. “You two _behave_. I don't want to hear about Melody taking any more classes from visitors at Tarrytown.”

Once she left, Ichabod and Melody sat in silence for a long moment. It was Melody who broke the silence. “Let the record show, she said she didn't mind as long it was free.”

“Dually noted,” Ichabod said as Melody held up her fist. He chuckled and gave her a fist bump.

  
#  


“Please. Please. _Please_. Pretty please.”

“No. I told you, you're too young. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Melody sighed with frustration but continued to follow the Siren up the steps of her house and inside. “But I'm taking kick boxing. And my bff Zabrina is taking gymnastics and then teaching me what she learned. My mom has arranged to have a self defence instructor to come in and teach the troop basic self-defence because grandddad said its very important for young girls to know how to defend themselves. I'm learning to sword fight from my granddad. And both me and my granddad have been watching old school Bruce Lee movies to see if we can learn anything from them.”

Abbie paused and looked at Melody questioningly. “So _that's_ where that came from. He learned that from watching Bruce Lee movies?” She shook her head and continued into the living room to let Floof out of his cage. “Here I was thinking it was something he did on accident or, I don't know, learned from someone way back when.”

Melody eyed the ghostly image of Persephone then smiled and waved at her. The goddess closed her eyes and politely bowed her head in her direction. Floof sailed out of the cage, whirled around Abbie a couple of times before gliding over to Melody to do the same. He then returned to Abbie and perched upon her shoulder.

“Your familiar likes me, that's another positive,” Melody pointed out. “There is literally no reason for me to not be your side kick.”

Abbie looked between Persephone and Melody. “You can see her?” Abbie asked curiously. “She can see you?”

Persephone smiled kindly. “Those with open minds can see me with ease. Children, psychics, mediums, the dying... witches. What are you called in this life, darling?”

“Melody,” the girl replied shyly.

The goddess nodded. “That is a beautiful name. Aphrodite would have liked it very much.” She looked up at Abbie. “Aphrodite was always one of my greatest allies and friends. When we were Inanna, she was our favoured handmaiden and high priestess.”

“See, even... whoever she is... thinks I should be your side kick,” Melody said. “Because... I've always been your sidekick.”

“I am Persephone, Goddess of the Dead,” Persephone replied softly. “I am one of the Siren's former identities.”

Abbie almost laughed when Melody's eyes grew large as saucers. She squealed happily. “I knew it. I knew it. I knew it! Everyone thought I was crazy, but I _knew_ Persephone was black.”

“She's just a kid, Persephone,” Abbie pointed out. “And I'm sorry Melody, but no. You're still too young. Live life, have adventures. You don't want to fight monsters, trust me. It _sucks_ so much.”

Melody's face fell. Abbie shook her head pointedly. “Don't... Don't you dare. Don't do it...” Melody's bottom lip poked out and she gave Abbie big sad eyes. What the hell was it with that family that every last one of them could pull off heart eyes and puppy dog eyes and utilize it as a weapon? Abbie groaned and sighed. “ _Fine_. You can be my side kick.”

“Yes!” Melody proclaimed with a fist pump. “What do I need to wear? When do you want me to come train with you? Do I get to carry a gun? What's my side kick name going to be?”

Abbie closed her eyes and sighed. “No, you don't get a gun. I don't really train, per se. But I guess I can teach you a few things I learned with the FBI. You can pick your own uniform, as long as your moms approve it. Oh and... I will need a handwritten note with both of your moms' signatures saying it is okay for you to be my side kick and that they understand that I will do my best to keep you out of danger but there's no promises because you do whatever the hell you want anyway.”

Melody groaned lightly. “They'll never say okay.”

“Yeah well, most side kicks are orphans that get adopted by the hero. You have your moms so you need a note,” Abbie said. “And I _will_ verify the note is authentic so don't think you can get your granddad to forge their signatures like you did to take the kick boxing classes.”

“You know about that?” Melody asked, looking down at her feet with shame.

“Yes I know about that. I know all,” Abbie stated. “As for the side kick name... I have no idea. We'll have to work on it.”

“What about a catchy phrase to say when we corner the bad guy?” Melody asked. “I mean, 'Prepare for trouble, make it double', is already taken so... we can't use that.”

Abbie blinked at the girl in shock. “You... really put a lot of thought into this didn't you? And you do realize sometimes we may have to fight your granddad?”

Melody nodded. “I've already had this discussion with him and he understands. He doesn't like it. But he understands.”

“Moms. Note.” Abbie reiterated. “And if you get taller than me, I hate to say it, but your side kick days will be over.”

  
#  


Her moms said no. 


	2. Sarah Belle "Granny" Hodge-Portie

Ichabod fidgeted nervously outside of the door that had been polished to a high shine. The ward smelled heavily of clorox and human waste. How a place managed to smell impeccable clean and absolutely grotesque at the same time was a mystery. He clutched a bouquet of pink roses in his hands.

It was fortunate the so-called nursing home was just around the block from the manor, otherwise he doubted he would have weathered the side-walks of Sleepy Hollow to visit the woman on the other side of the door. Latisha's words were still ringing heavily in his mind.

_You have to take baby steps. You'll have to break out into the great big world on your own eventually without someone holding your hand. Especially if you're set on_ wooing that Siren.

There was only one name on the door. _Sarah Belle Hodges-Portie_.

Ichabod knocked lightly on the door and opened it when he heard a gruff, “What the hell you want?” The elderly woman was seated in a motorized scooter, staring out of the window when he entered. “I ain't wanting anything to do with you bitches if you're coming in here to hound me about a god damn shower again.”

“Pardon me, Mrs. Hodges-Portie...” Ichabod started. The woman whipped her chair around with surprisingly accuracy in such a small space. He stopped and swallowed hard when a strange look over took the woman's face, as though she recognized him.

“Ichabod?” she said softly, her fingers going to her lips. She gasped softly. “My sweet, sweet baby boy finally came home to his mama...” Before he could adequately react, Sarah Belle had rolled over to Ichabod and was yanking him down into a hug by his coat. “I told them and told them you'd come home someday. I knew you'd never leave your mama forever.”

Ichabod shifted around until he was on his knees. For a moment he wasn't sure what was going on but then his eyes fell to a framed photograph on the table next to her hospital bed. The photograph looked older and faded, the petite black woman was unmistakably Miss Sarah Belle and she was sitting in the lap of a young man that looked eerily similar to him, with a face that still had childlike roundness to it and scruff instead of a beard.

_Oh dear. She thought he was her son_.

She held him at arms length and gave him a tearful smile. “Oh, Tisha told me I might have a special visitor this weekend... I told 'em all... I told them. You would come home some day. Now here you are. My precious boy. Just as handsome as the last time I saw you. So where have you been, Ichabod?”

On one hand, Ichabod wanted to correct her and let her know that he was not, in fact her son. On the other hand, he knew doing so would probably break her heart. 

“I've been... underground,” he said carefully. 

Miss Sarah Belle chuckled softly and patted his cheek. “I knew it... I knew it. You had to go into hiding because of the witness thing... You don't have to apologize, I just wish you had said something before you disappeared like you did. And those nasty cousins of yours put me in this god forsaken place and forgot all about me.” She tweaked his nose affectionately. “Except Tisha and her _lovely_ friend Carol. They come and see me _every_ Sunday.”

Ichabod's heart fell. “You only have visitors one day out of the entire week?” he scoffed indignantly. “That is most absurd... There is family abounds that should be _flocking_ to your door... upon a daily basis. There is no reason that you should be here alone...”

Sarah Belle chuckled softly. “I ain't alone, baby boy. Those bitchy CNAs make me go to the activity room three times a damn day and, I swear if Mildred don't stop eyeballin' my woman I'm gonna run her punk ass over with my scooter.”

There was a soft knock at the door and a cheery latina girl in bright pink scrubs poked her head in. “Well good morning, Miss Sarah Belle. How are you this morning?”

Sarah-Belle took Ichabod's hand and beamed at the girl. “I am perfect this morning Miss Evelyn,” she replied. “Look here... my son finally came back to get me. Just like I said he would.” She looked at Ichabod with pleading eyes. “We are going back home, right?”

“I... was not aware that was an option,” Ichabod said slowly as the gears in his head started turning. He looked to the pink clad girl. “Miss Evelyn. What... would I have to do in order to take Miss Sarah Belle back home?”

Evelyn hummed as she worried her bottom lip. “Well... there's a process to go through because they have to make sure the home she's living in is safe and accessible for her. And you would have to be willing and able to take care of her or be able to have an at home care group do so. And of course you would have to clear it through whoever her contact on the outside is.”

Ichabod gave his attention back to Sarah Belle. “Rest assure Miss—Mother... I shall be freeing you from this institution as soon as I am able.” He clasped her frail hand in his and kissed her fingertips. “In the meantime, I shall visit you daily so that we may... catch up.”

Sarah Belle patted his cheek again. “I can't wait...” she cooed sweetly. “Oh, Ichabod... Miss Evelyn here is the only CNA here that knows what the hell she is doing. And she is studying to be a... a...” She clicked her fingers a few times. “What was it again, Evie?”

“Kindergarten teacher,” Evelyn beamed. “Are you trying to get your son to take me on a date, Miss Sarah Belle?”

“See? She's smart, Ichabod. And you should always marry a smart woman.”

Leave it that one thing that had not changed since Ichabod's time would be mothers constantly trying to find their sons a suitable wife. “Oh... well... I... could not take Miss Evelyn on a date as I am certain it would infuriate my...” his voice trailed off for a moment as he tried to figure out what to call the Siren. “I am... currently involved with a woman.”

Sarah Belle arched a disapproving eyebrow. “ _Involved_ sounds like you're sneaking around with her. Don't tell me you're all tangled up with a married woman, again. I will plant foot up your ass.”

Ichabod opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a small squeak. It had never occurred to him that, perhaps, the reason the Siren didn't wish for him to fall in love with her was because she was already wed. “She is not, as far as I am aware.”

“Anyway, Miss Sarah Belle, I came to see if you wanted to go down to the activity room for breakfast or if you wanted to eat in your room,” Evelyn asked.

Sarah Belle wrinkled her nose. “I don't want that nasty shit they call breakfast,” she groused. “You should know me well enough to know that.”

“Sorry,” Evelyn said. “You know I get in trouble if I don't at least ask.”

Sarah Belle was quiet a moment. “You know what, Evie. I think I should have breakfast this morning. I want to show off my handsome son to everyone before I get out of this shithole.”

Evelyn nodded lightly. “Okay then. I will have them take your tray to the activity room and make an extra one for your son.”

The CNA then left without another word.

  
#  


Abbie meandered up the driveway of the manor. It was weird, being able to visit the place whenever she wanted and not having to break in. Even weirder was that the Captain was on his knees in front of the house using a tape measurer to get dimensions between the ground and the entry steps.

“What are you doing?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“I am making adequate preparations for a house guest,” the Captain replied with pride. “I am told I must have an accessibility ramp, therefore I am building one. Along with installing a levelled brick pad because the Historical Preservationists say using concrete would _not_ be historically accurate.”

Abbie cocked a brow. “But an accessibility ramp will?” 

The Captain sat back on his heels and brushed his hair from his face. “I vowed I would keep it within the perimeters of accuracy and functionality.” His eyes roamed over her slowly. “And what brings you to the manor today, Doctor?”

She couldn't help but laugh. “You know I'm not really history professor but you _still_ call me Doctor?” She tucked her hands into her back pocket. “I was just... coming to see if you had seen or heard anything new about the new threat.”

“Since I was stabbed last week?” the Captain asked. “You can admit to being concerned about me.”

No she couldn't. Admitting anything concerning him was off limits in Abbie's head. “You still want to do this whole, fighting evil thing?”

“Are you married?” the Captain blurted.

Abbie blinked as he looked away. “What? No. Why would you ask that?” He remained quiet but continued to get his measurements and jot them down. “Why would you think I'm married?”

“It occurred to me that the reason you are so adamant about my not falling in love with you is because you are... already wed to another,” the Captain replied.

Abbie couldn't help it, she started laughing hysterically. “That's a good one. I have to admit, that theory really, really, surprised me. You honestly think, with the life I'm having to live I would be able to _date_ let alone get married? I can just see that one... being on a date and having to explain why I'm having to dash out the door to chase down a monster.” She waved at an imaginary date. “Sorry babe, I have to go do the Witness thing.” She shook her head. “Men these days are too damn needy, they wouldn't understand that being a Witness has to come first.” The Captain opened his mouth to say something but Abbie held up a finger. “Don't even.”

She was pretty sure he was either going to say he understood that being a Witness came first or some kind of sexual innuendo. It could go either way, really. When it was just the two of them he didn't seem at all shy about letting one or two slip. But now he nodded dutifully and swept a hand toward the steps of the manor. 

“Feel free to join me,” he offered.

Abbie eased down onto the porch and rested her elbows on her knees as she watched him work. “So... who is this house guest? Should I be concerned?”

The Captain looked up at her and she fluttered her lashes demurely. His eyes darkened and that damn smirk appeared on his lips. But then he sighed lightly and looked back at his work. “One of my descendants is living in that dreadful facility down the way. I intend to make a place for her, here, in the manor so she may live out the rest of days in comfort.”

“And she was just... okay with going to live in a strange man's house?” Abbie asked.

“Therein lies a conundrum. She believes me to be her son which disappeared nearly forty years ago, without a trace.” He blinked. “And having seen the photographs, the resemblance is... mystifying.”

Abbie shrugged. “Spontaneous something or other with DNA. It happens. More often in the movies than real life but... yeah.” She tilted her head. “But that's not all is it? You found something out.”

The Captain nodded. “He had become involved with a local coven and they...” he sucked in a breath. “Tried to use him to revive the son I had with my late wife.” He hung his head. “And to make matters worse... once Jeremy was revived by Moloch, it was revealed to him that the reason he did not inherit the mantel of Witness was because he was not my actual eldest son. And that the only way he could inherit it was if...”

“He hunted down the eldest sons of the direct bloodline and removed them from the equation,” Abbie said quietly. The Captain nodded mutely. She leaned over and tilted his chin up so she could look him in the eyes. “It's not your fault. You were young and in love, remember? And who knows what would have happened if he had actually inherited being the Witness.”

“According to Latisha, once they realized what was happening, they placed a protection spell upon the sole surviving successor so that he could not be located by any of the agents of evil. So, should anything happen to me...”

“You can stop that sentence right there,” Abbie interrupted. “Nothing's going to happen to you. Not on my watch.”

“You do not want his name?” the Captain asked.

Abbie shook her head. “I don't need it because nothing is going to happen to you. Got it?” She watched him work for a moment. “So when is she moving in?”

“Hopefully within two weeks time,” the Captain replied. “I am certain she will like you. You are both very spirited women.”

Needless to say, one week three days and five hours later, Abbie had the distinct privilege of meeting 'Granny' as everyone called her. It had been in the middle of the night as she tiptoed down the stairs of the manor after leaving the Captain's bedroom. She had been trying to sneak out through the kitchen and came face-to-face with the scooter driven woman. 

“And just who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house,” Granny groused from the kitchen doorway. She craned her head to shout. “ _Ichabod there is a burglar in the house_! Ichabod, we're being burgelled!”

“Whoa, whoa...” Abbie said, holding her hands up. “I am a federal agent, ma'am... Do you want to see my badge? I'm reaching for my badge...” She carefully reached into her back pocket and pulled out her badge and held it up for the little old lady to see. “You must be Sarah Belle. I've heard a lot about you from Ichabod.”

The woman snorted and waved her hand dismissively. “I can get a badge just like that from Home Depot. And just who the fu—” she eyed Abbie warily, one hand going to her chest. “Are you that trashy whore that's seduced my baby boy?”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Abbie stated.

“You heard me,” Granny snapped. “Is you or is you not that trashy whore that has seduced my baby boy?”

“First of all,” Abbie intoned, holding up a silencing finger. “For the record, he seduced me first. Second, who the hell do you think you are talking to me like that? Three, I am not trashy thank you very much.”

Granny moved the scooter forward, a scowl on her weathered face. “Get your skinny little ass out of my house before I rain down the wrath of god on you.”

Abbie snorted and folded her arms over her chest. She had faced down demons both personal and literal, a tiny woman on a motorized scooter was not going to intimidate her. “You know what... I think I will take _baby boy's_ invitation to stay the night after all.” She shifted toward the stairs at the backside of the kitchen. 

She was only three steps up when it felt like something grabbed her from behind and yanked her down the steps and slammed her up against the wall. Abbie coughed and gasped for breath. “What the Hell...”

Granny jutted her chin defiantly, her hand poised as if ready to snap her fingers. “I will tell you again... Get your skinny ass outta my house and stay away from my boy. I have faced down demons and angels alike. Some stupid little girl with an attitude won't phase me.”

“Of _course_ you're a witch,” Abbie grumbled.

“What is going on?”

Abbie dropped to the ground with a yelp as Granny released her from the spell. The Captain was standing on the kitchen stairs looking between her and Granny, bundled up in a heavy robe. Granny shook her finger at Abbie.

“This... _scarlet woman_ won't leave the house,” Granny huffed.

“Well that is certainly a change,” the Captain grumbled, rubbing his face. “Ordinarily no amount of begging can keep her here.”

Abbie shuffled to her feet and smoothed down her blouse. “You know what, I was just leaving anyway.”

“Good,” Granny scoffed.

“You do not have to leave if you do not wish it,” the Captain said, giving Abbie big puppy dog eyes that made her officially torn on the subject. Granny gawked in offense.

“Evelyn is prettier and smarter than this one Ichabod,” Granny huffed.

“It would never work with Evelyn and me,” the Captain countered. “I'm weird and... she only dates women. And those were her precise words.”

For a moment, Abbie felt her skin crawl at the thought of the Captain asking anyone on a date. She quickly stamped the feeling into the ground where it belonged. “Does your offer still stand _Ichabod_?” Abbie asked, giving him her sweetest smile.

He glanced between her and Granny a few times before settling on her. “Yes,” he said affectionately.

Granny let out an offended “I never...” as Abbie moved back toward the stairs to take the Captain's hand. When Abbie glanced back at Granny, the woman gave her the 'I got my eyes on you' gesture. Abbie returned the gesture and added a rude one, which elicited a snort and smirk from Granny.

  
#  


Sarah Belle watched the two young people ascend the stairs. Once they disappeared from sight she closed her eyes and sighed softly before turning her scooter around to head back to her quarters. As she closed the door, she sensed a presence sitting in the chair in the corner, near the window.

“Oh this cruel, cruel world,” she muttered as she parked next to the presence. “Are those two really the only thing keeping mankind of collapsing into a pit of fire and despair?”

“Yes,” the presence replied. 

She shook her head and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You were right,” she said quietly. “I like the girl. She's strong. Those Radiant Heart bitches used to nearly suffocate when I used magic against them.” The presence laughed softly. “I'm serious. I think one or two of the ones I hunted down to avenge you actually _did_ suffocate.” She was quiet a moment. “But I was not prepared for the fact he looks just like you.”

“If you wish to be technical, I look like him as he was born two and a half centuries ago.”

Sarah Belle smiled softly. “Those two are a hot mess though. They need a lot of work if they're going to save mankind. But I think they'll do all right.” She nodded gently. “Still gonna give her hell. Gotta keep her on her toes.”

The presence whisked away as it often did. It never stayed long. Sarah Belle looked at her hands and wondered when they became so wrinkled with age. And just where the hell was she? Then with a smile she remembered: her son had picked her up from the nursing home and brought her to his home—a beautiful colonial style manor at the far edges of town. He had done good for himself in his absence and was doing the right thing, making sure his mama was taken care of like a good son should do.

But she was definitely going to have to sit down with him and have a strongly worded discussion about that woman and her tiptoeing through the house late at night.


	3. Joe Corbin

“Would you be so kind to explain to me what a... photovoltaic cell power source is?” Ichabod asked curiously to the sour-faced Freemason bringing him his meal. “The gentleman in this text recommends it over a generator type source.”

Instead of getting an answer, the man grunted non-committally and made his way out of the basement. A few days later, judging by the way the sun appeared and disappeared through the tiny window near the two outside entry doors, the same man brought him a metal rectangle and essentially threw it at him. “Use the internet,” the man gruffed and walked out before Ichabod could even inquire as to what an internet was.

Ichabod turned the device over in his hands, studying it curiously. Was the device itself an internet? Was it something the device was capable of performing? But Ichabod was nothing if not curious and immediately set to trying to discover what the rectangle was and what it could be used for.

One side of the rectangle was a shiny metal, the other some kind of darkened glass. Ichabod tapped the glass curious, as he _had_ noticed the others doing so to similar devices. It wasn't until he inadvertently touched a button on the side that the glass illuminated with the bright colours he had seen on the others' devices. He touched it again and the glass turned dark once more.

Once more, he touched the button to illuminate the screen. This time he noticed tiny words at the bottom that read: Swipe screen to unlock.

_Swipe_? What sort of nonsense word was _swipe_? Perhaps once he discovered this illusive internet he could ask it what a _swipe_ was. He prodded at the glass until it turned dark again and sighed heavily. He took a moment to breathe and recall what he had seen the others do to their own devices. When he illuminated the glass again, he lightly stroked the glass.

His eyes widened and a smile spread over his lips as a new image filled the glass, full of tinier pictures with labels. _Maps_ , _Clock_ , _Phone_... and finally _Internet_. So an internet was something which the device was capable of performing, it seemed.

He touched the tiny picture above the word 'internet' and he nearly dropped the device when the glass turned bright white and the words 'type url or search' in a space near the top. It seemed the more questions he had answered, the more he ended up having.

After nearly four hours of trying to get the internet to do things—some of which he was successful and he even discovered a feature that allowed him to speak to the internet and it would fetch him the information he was seeking. He was so absorbed in interneting that he almost didn't notice the light knock on the door at the top of the stairs.

A few moments later a young gentleman was escorted down the steps into the basement by one of the Freemasons. “Hello, Mister Crane,” the young man greeted cautiously, extended his hand in greeting. “Joe Corbin. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, Mister Corbin,” Ichabod said quietly, shaking the younger man's hand. He glanced toward the Freemason then back at Mister Corbin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was part of the clean up crew from your gear driven droids the other day. I was impressed and asked if I could meet you,” Corbin replied. The young man glanced over his shoulder. “Since these guys were good friends of my dad's, they hooked me up.”

Speech in this odd day and age failed to make any actual sense to him, Ichabod couldn't help but think. Things connected in Ichabod's memory and he recalled where he had heard _Corbin_. “The late Sheriff Corbin was your father?” Young Corbin nodded lightly. “I am sorry for your loss.”

Joe nodded lightly. “Thanks. Didn't really know him that well but, it still hurts,” he said.

The freemason sneered slightly and moved back up stairs. Ichabod watched the other man retreating and waited until he heard the basement door close. “I take it they do not much care for yourself or your father,” Ichabod asked.

Joe laughed. “I guess you could say that. But, yeah, I had a run in with the guys recently and... we’re willing to tolerate each other. They said you could probably use a little help navigating modern tech.” He cast a glance up the stairs. “They don't like me because I was a windego. Well. Still am, I'm just able to control it a bit better thanks to a certain someone. Maybe you know about her? Kinda short, sarcastic... likes to break things.”

Ichabod stopped what he was doing and looked at young Mister Corbin pointedly. “She's a thorn in the backside of everyone that comes here to the manor. Moloch and his minions hate her because she constantly thwarts their plans. The Freemasons dislike her because they feel the witnesses are merely to observe. That and, supposedly, if she becomes too powerful of an entity I am the only one which can stop her, therefore they can't kill _me_ in order to kill the horseman like they wish.”

Joe arched his brows and hmphed with interest. “So they think she's a bigger threat than the horseman of Death, huh? Interesting.” He cast a glance to the stairs then back at Ichabod. “Look... I have a car outside. I can take you somewhere safe. I'm pretty sure no one would argue.”

Ichabod sucked in a sharp breath as he thought about all of the things he had seen on the outside. The lights, the fast pace of it all, _the noise_. He shook his head. “No... no. I cannot. There is nothing for me in the world outside.”

“It would be somewhere quiet and peaceful. I promise. It's out in the middle of the woods by the lake. If you want, I could bring you supplies once a week. No one would know you're there except me.”

He rather liked the sound of that. But in order to get _there_ he would have to pass through the busyness, the loudness. That much he knew. He would have to be in one of those horseless carriages again. He hated those things. So confining. The first one he had been in, a police officer had put him in the rear bench and the doors would not open from within! The second had taken him to a _psychiatric ward_ and he had been flanked by armed guards. The third had brought him to this place.

So to say his experience with _cars_ were not exactly pleasant and he had no care to make another journey in one again would not be remiss.

“I could tell _her_ where you are,” Joe said temptingly.

Ichabod blinked at the younger man. “Perhaps it would be worth attempting after all.”

Joe nodded knowingly. “All right. Let's go then. Grab whatever you want to take with you and we'll go.”

The freemasons as well as the minions were more than happy to see him depart, carrying nothing more than picture frame held close to his chest. He didn't have any belongings to speak of, not really. The cellular device was tucked away in his pocket. Ichabod's heart was beating frantically as he walked along side his younger associate to a rustic looking _car_. No... no... that particular style was called something else.

A van? No... that was the elongated one with numerous rows of seats. _A pick-up truck_. yes! That was the correct one. Although what exactly it was picking up was a mystery in and of itself. He had seen one that one of the freemasons drove, but only from a distance. Young Joseph's seemed to be far less glamorous than the other. Where the other had been sleek and shimmered despite being black, this one was rugged, red, and covered with dried soil.

Ichabod liked it already. 

“Could you... tell me about this sort of carriage?” he asked quietly. When he had asked the freemason about his, he had just shrugged and said 'it's a pickup truck.'

Joe, however grinned. “If it would make you feel more comfortable riding in it, sure.”

ichabod placed the frame he was carrying inside of the carriage when Joe opened the door to give him a “run down” of what everything did. _The cab, its doors and locks, the crank for the window, the seat belt_. Then it was the outside. _Rubber tires, the bed_ —which the bed gave the driver the ability to 'pick up' loads which was why it was called a pick-up—and the engine compartment. Ichabod's eyes were wide as saucers as Joe did his best to explain the reciprocating engine and how it worked.

“If you want to know more, you would have to talk to a mechanic. They know a little bit more about these than I do. Actually I could probably get Jenny to explain it,” Joe said with a chuckle. “She's tried explaining it but it all sounds like Greek to me. Which is _why_ I am a field medic and not a mechanic.”

He closed the engine compartment and nodded toward the cab. “Ready?”

For a moment a brief panic set in but then he realized Joseph was _asking_ if he was ready. He wasn't ordering him. He wasn't just shoving him in impatiently. He was _asking_. Ichabod took a deep breath then exhaled heavily. “I suppose I am as prepared as I shall ever be.”

Despite it being his choice, Ichabod's hands still trembled as he pulled the door open. He swallowed down a wave of nausea as he slipped into the seat and closed the door. Ichabod watched as Joe pulled on his seat belt then followed suit.

“There's a little button on the buckle,” Joe said, pointing to it on his own belt. “When we get there, you push it and the belt will unclasp.”

Ichabod managed to snort out a slight laugh. “Many of my friends in my own time would have appreciated such a device if it were upon their trousers.”

Joe chuckled lightly. “Nice to know times really haven't changed much on _that_ front.” When Joe started the engine, Ichabod fidgeted nervously. It was much louder than he had anticipated. Sensing his apprehension, Joe explained, “It's an older model. They tend to be a little louder than the new ones.”

Ichabod nodded stiffly, watching Joe turn various knobs to start the air conditioning and then turn on the radio. The younger man's face turned red as he turned the volume down to an acceptable level. “Sorry... Jenny likes to turn it up loud when she borrows it...”

_Won't stop moving. It's like I got this music in my mind. Saying it's gonna be alright. “cause the players gonna play, play play, play, play. And the ha—_

The radio fell silent as Joe did something with his phone. “Oh thank god,” Ichabod breathed, rubbing his eyes with his middle finger and thumb. It had only been a brief moment of auditory torture but Ichabod doubted he would be able to get what he had heard out of his head for weeks.

The loud boisterous tune was replaced by something softer and more soothing. Ichabod closed his eyes and sighed softly. _This_ he could deal with. “You are able to play music with your cellular device? Over... what are they called? The speakers?”

Joe nodded. “It's called bluetooth, I connected it to my radio and so whatever my phone plays, it can play.”

_This is not the right way. This is not the right way..._

Ichabod ears pricked as his picked up on the quiet voice mingled in with the music which was slowly reaching a crescendo. Then the voice became gradually clearer as Joe started slowly driving up the long dirt path that led from the manor to the street.

_Some have said that I was given keys to the city of your dreams. I'm more content to walk outside the walls and catch a breeze. I'm more inclined to climb on by or ride internal seas._

It was a multitude more pleasing than the noise that had first poured through the speakers, Ichabod noted.

_I'm more alive to vibe inside a mansion full of trees. I do this for a reason that they can't pretend to glean. I lose myself infused in something more than what they've seen. I'm not a slave to greed. I don't embrace your make believe. I've never been for sale no matter what they think I need. So let it be decreed. Let this music serve the deed. Let it spread like a disease. Let it spawn a noble seed_

Ichabod opened his eyes as a feeling of panic began to arise once again deep inside of his soul. He wasn't really certain what about the music was causing him to panic but it was.

_There's more than meets the eye. There's more than meets the price. If you can't see the sky there's too much artificial light. I can't predict my path, but they can't fully see my past. I'm running from the flash but heading straight inside the blast. A mountain full of ego built upon a heap of trash. Is exactly what you get when you can't fully do the math._

“You all right? Do I need to turn—”

Before Joe could fully ask his question, Ichabod had unbuckled the seat belt and dove out of the pick up truck. He heard the pick up come to a halt. Ichabod quickly clamoured to his feet and ran as fast as he could, back to the manor. The freemasons looked up and scowled when he burst into through the door but he rushed through the room, to the door that led to the basement, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Ichabod found a dark corner to curl up in and panted, trying to regain his breath from both the panic and from running. His buried his fingers in his hair and rested his forehead on his knees. A few minutes later he heard a soothing, “You left this in the truck.”

Lifting his head he gave his new friend a weary smile as he relieved him of the frame. Ichabod hugged it to his chest and sighed heavily. “I do not know what came over me...”

Joe shook his head. “You don't have to explain,” he said, sitting down in front of Ichabod, criss-crossing his legs in front of him. “Folks haven't exactly been being nice to you since you got here. It feels like everyone is out to get you. Everything is too loud. Everything is too fast paced. I get it. Trust me. I was the same way when I first got back from Afghanistan.” He clasped Ichabod's shoulder. “Take all the time you need. You can use the internet to look at just about anything you want to learn. I'll even bring a few things that you can use.”

Ichabod fished the cellular device from his pocket. A thin crack now graced the screen, from top to bottom. He pushed the button on the side and it did not light up as it once did. “It seems my internet has been damaged.”

“I'll get you a replacement,” Joe said with a light chuckle. “Just be more careful with it. These things are delicate. And when I bring you the new one, I'll put my number in so you can call me if you need anything. Whether it's food or someone to talk to.”

“I would very much like to know how to make my new cellular device play music,” Ichabod commented quietly. “I have always been a most avid lover of music.”

“And poetry I take it,” Joe commented. “Henley is good but I'm more of a Hemingway guy myself. You gotta admire a guy that collected polydactyl cats.”

Ichabod nodded. “I am familiar. A rather delightful woman at the psychiatric hospital would often bring me books of poetry and novels that the authors had not yet been born when I died... Hemingway, Verne, Isimov, Misses Angelou, Dickinson, Brontë, Austen, and Shelley...”

“I am going to add an e-reader to the things I'm going to be bringing next time I come,” Joe said. When Ichabod looked at him questioningly, he added, “It gives you access to almost any book you could ever want to read. You just have to download it and it's yours.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“That's what I'm here for,” Joe replied. “I'll have you fluent in tech talk in no time. But whenever you feel ready to venture away from the manor, just let me know and I will make sure it goes as smoothly as possible.”

Ichabod looked down at the framed poem. “This was a gift. Thank you for returning it.”

“Don't mention it.” Joe looked around. “Do you mind if I bring a few things to store here? I mean, there's plenty of room and all. And what I bring would probably easily tuck away in a corner.”

“Feel free to do so,” Ichabod replied.

  
#  


Ichabod's eyes were wide at the sight of the numerous brown boxes stacked in the corner, along with several _plastic_ wrapped packages of bottled waters—though he did scoff at the idea of water being bottled and sold. Currently Mister Joseph had one of the water bottles sitting on the table next to one of the brown boxes. He removed several brown plastic wrapped packages emblazoned with the phrase 'Meals Ready to Eat' along with a description of 'Chicken with tomatoes and feta' or 'chilli with beans' or some other combination of noodle and meat. He held up a stack of green bags.

“If you need any extra heaters I have plenty. They can be used for lots of things,” Joe explained. “You can pour a little water in one these, wrap it in a towel... hand warmer. When it goes cold, just throw in some more water and it'll start it back up.”

Ichabod nodded eagerly. He still wasn't entirely certain as to why Joseph would desire to keep such valuable supplies at the manor. Joe picked up a drink he had brought in, according to Joe it was called _gatorade_. “If you get a bottle like this, put a hole in the lid once it's empty, throw in a little water... and pour in the powder from one of the heater sections. Give it a few minutes to let the gas build up...” He picked up small plastic package and pointed to a small brown packet inside. “Then use one of your matches, spark it close to the hole... _bam_ , makeshift candle.”

“I am still confused as to why you would leave such supplies in my care,” Ichabod said.

“I don't have a lot of storage space at my cabin,” Joe replied. “Besides, if you ever have problems getting a hold of me on the cell phone but you're hungry or thirsty, you can help yourself. Just don't eat the silica gel packets they can kill you.” His eyes glimmered mischievously. “Let me show you something fun...”

Joe put down his gatorade and picked up a _cola_ in a plastic bottle along with one of the heaters. Was everything in this age encased in _plastic_? Ichabod could not help but wonder.

Ichabod followed the younger man out of the cellar doors and into the back yard where several cars were lined up.

“Pick a car, Ichabod. Any car. Preferably one that belongs to someone you don't like,” Joe said with a mirthful grin, as he twisted the cap off the cola. He took a long enough drink to empty the bottle half way.

Ichabod's eyes fell to the shiny silver _Porsche Turbo 911_ closest to the cellar. It was Rutledge's _car_. Out of all the freemasons, he was the one Ichabod abhorred the most. And he bragged about his shiny miniature carriage with immense pride. “That one.”

Joe groaned in appreciation. “And he left the sun roof open. The Lord hath smiled upon us today, Crane. Although I do have some regret over doing this to such a beautiful car.”

“This carriage is Rutledge’s pride and joy,” Ichabod stated. “He abhors the thought of one so much as breathing in its direction.”

Joe cackled with delight as he handed Ichabod the cola then carefully ripped the corner off one of the heater packs. “One weekend at drill, our commanding officer was being a massive dick… Well, more so than usual,” Joe explained. “So we did this...” He instructed Ichabod to twist off the cap and he did. Joe poured the magnesium powder into bottle and took it from Ichabod to twist the cap back on. He shook the bottle hardily. “And threw it in his cruiser.”

Joe dropped the bottle into the sunroof and held up a finger to indicate to give it a minute. Ichabod jumped at the sound of a loud _pop_ and the sticky brown liquid was clinging to the windows and probably everything on the interior. They both cackled and hurried back to the cellar... and just in time because they could hear the sound of feet on the floors above them.

So by time Rutledge stomped into the cellar and held up the exploded bottle, they were completely involved with something that did not involve the heater packs. “What the hell is this?” he demanded angrily.

Both Joe and Ichabod blinked at him innocently. “It appears to be a plastic bottle,” Joe commented. “What's the big deal? Someone toss one on the ground again?”

Rutledge looked between them. Ichabod pointed at something on the screen of the tablet he was holding. “What does this mean when it asks for me to 'login'?” he asked, acting as oblivious to the bottle as possible.

“Remember how when we were setting this thing up and we made you an email and password?” Joe asked. Ichabod nodded. “You put the same information in again.”

“And I shall be able to perform the downloading of books?”

“So neither of you are going to claim to have tossing this thing in my car and getting pop all over the place?” Rutledge asked angrily.

Joe scoffed. “We've been here trying to get Ichabod into the e-book store. Check with those kids you keep nearly running over.”

“There is the possibility it is Officer Andrew Brooks,” Ichabod suggested, knowing damn well Rutledge wouldn't dare confront the undead policeman. There were few things Rutledge was unnerved by and Officer Brooks was one of them. “He's been lurking about again.”

Rutledge looked between them again, chucked the bottle into the corner with an annoyed grunt, and stormed out of the basement. The two men shared a look and snickered quietly, very pleased with themselves.

  
#  


Joe was trying to figure out what, exactly he was looking at. On one hand it was excellent craftsmanship. On the other hand, it had randomly appeared behind a stack of wood Ichabod had been making for the past few months. Someone had taken several of the split logs and made a chair and a footstool for themselves behind the wood stack.

Joe was pretty sure he knew who was responsible. And it hadn't stopped there. A few days later, Ichabod texted him an updated picture—the culprit had now also fashioned a small table. A few more days passed... a wall. Then another wall. And another. How the hell Abbie managed to do a roof on the damn thing was a mystery though. Finally a sheet appeared to cover the doorway in the fourth wall.

Next followed empty cans of soda, magazines, and cushions for the makeshift chair.

_I have captured the mystery builder_ , Ichabod texted. Attached was a picture of Abbie asleep, kicked back in the chair, feet on the stool, covered up with a snuggie. It was very obvious she was snoring which was pretty comical when one took into account she was still wearing her little black mask. _I think I shall just let her be_.

Joe shook his head and sighed. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on between those two, but he was pretty sure it wasn't the big rivalry Abbie perpetuated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Joe plays in the truck is The Way by Zack Hemsey


End file.
